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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27794539">Back At The Ranch</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricblueninja/pseuds/electricblueninja'>electricblueninja</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Conversation Starters For Couples [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Domestic Fluff, Fluff, I mean probably slow burn; mine usually are, M/M, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:02:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,015</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27794539</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricblueninja/pseuds/electricblueninja</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel &amp; Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Conversation Starters For Couples [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2033494</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Back At The Ranch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>We don't talk about it for a month.</p><p> </p><p>I don't know how to. I don't know what to say. <em>You gave me the best blowjob of my life, and hey, the thing is, I think I really like you. Like, </em>like <em>like you. Maybe we should go out for dinner sometime</em>? I don't think so.</p><p> </p><p>When I woke up the next morning, he was gone. Fair enough, I guess. He doesn't sleep. If I didn't sleep, I wouldn't just spend all night lying around while someone else got their eight hours. Not that I usually get eight hours. And I <em>never</em> sleep the whole way through the night. </p><p> </p><p>I'm pretty sure--like, eighty percent sure--that when I woke up, at 2 a.m. or whenever, he was still there, warm beside me. I think I said something, although I can't remember what, and he stroked my hair until I fell asleep again. </p><p> </p><p>But in the grey light of the autumn dawn, no Cas. Just me and the dying coals in the stove.</p><p> </p><p>The only way I know that I didn't dream the whole thing was that his tie was there, on the floor, halfway under the bed. </p><p> </p><p>I've still got it, too, stuffed into the drawer of my bedside table in the bunker. I'm not sure how to return it. I'm not even sure I want to--partly because I have no idea how I'd approach it, and partly because--</p><p> </p><p>Never mind. It's stupid.</p><p> </p><p>I went back to the bunker, anyway, after that. But I haven't talked to Sam about running off yet, either. I've just kind of...been acting like it never happened. And Sam's tried to get me to open up about why I split so suddenly, but I can't do it. I can't explain. Again--what would I say? <em>I thought Cas was in love with you and I got angry and jealous and went on a killing spree</em>? Even I know that that's kind of insane. Following it up with <em>But then Cas came and found me, and told me he loved me, and then he blew me in a cabin in the woods</em> is even worse. And even if it wasn't, I'm not having <em>that</em> chat with Sam. No way. </p><p> </p><p>Besides, I don't need to come out. I'm not gay. It's not <em>dudes</em>, plural. It's <em>Cas</em>. Singular. I'm not into dudes. I absolutely do not have sex with men. Ever. I'm not...I don't...and he's not a dude, anyway: he's an angel. I mean, he's got <em>some</em> things in common with a human, sure, but...</p><p> </p><p>So I guess what I'm saying is I've been thinking about my stupid best friend and his stupid eyes, and his...his stupid mouth, and his stupid, uh, angel blade, heh, for like three weeks. And it's starting to drive me a bit crazy. Just this past week, there's been a few nights when I take his tie out of the drawer, and it brings back the memories, and I--</p><p> </p><p>See? Stupid. Absolute frigging idiot.</p><p> </p><p>But things don't tend to go my way. So we can't just move on. Of course not. No, instead, tonight, there's a rap on the door, and I open it to find Cas standing there with intent. Not fun intent intent, either. More like he's got a few things he wants to say. 'We're going to talk about it whether you want to or not' intent. But I've been ignoring him, like an asshole, and I'm not quite enough of an asshole to shut the door in his face, so I step back to let him in. </p><p> </p><p>As he's turning back around from closing the door, I lose control of an impulse. I push him back against the wooden surface, my forearm braced against his chest. I don't mean to do it, and I don't mean to kiss him, but that's what's happening--his stubble prickling against my skin and his mouth warm and pepperminty and welcoming. But it's only happening for a hot minute: after that, he places both hands on my chest and pushes me gently away.</p><p> </p><p>I don't expect to feel the bolt of rejection, either, but I do, followed by a geyser of anger and self-loathing bubbling up through my core. I feel it in my skull and in my gut and in my fists. My first instinct is to lash out, and the only way I can stop myself is by retreating, so I back away, fists clenched as I try to contain it.</p><p> </p><p>Cas senses it--of course he does. Still, he's not afraid. What's he got to fear from me? I'm just a human.</p><p> </p><p>He follows me into the room, his eyes never leaving mine. I only stop when the back of my legs hit the bedframe, and Cas, whose pursuit is slow and careful, reaches out to enfold me in his embrace. I try to shove him away, but he doesn't budge; the only thing that gets dislodged is the angry sob in my throat. He just holds me tighter, silent as I bury my face in his shoulder, his hand stroking the back of my head as I try to steady my breath. </p><p> </p><p>"It's okay, Dean," he murmurs. "It's okay."</p><p> </p><p>There's a subtle shift in the air around us, and I feel the jagged edges of my rage soften, like I'm suddenly being cocooned. Like I'm safe.</p><p> </p><p>His wings. It's his wings. I can feel them now. They're making everything feel soft, even though I want to be angry.</p><p> </p><p>I try to pull away again, and this time he lets me go--lets me catch him by the wrists, though his eyes have a glint of steel in them that stops me from pushing any further. And now that we're standing so close, I'm slowly becoming aware that his gaze is not the only thing that's hard. The other thing is me. <em>Already.</em> Jesus Christ, he's been in the room for two minutes, and I'm already--</p><p> </p><p>"Dean," he says, "we need to talk about what happened at the lake."</p><p> </p>
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